“Can I please come see you Monday?”

Doug’s situation got a lot worse after he messaged me from the waiting room of the oncologist a few days ago.

He hadn’t seen the oncologist when he messaged me, and I didn’t see his Facebook update until Saturday, when he made it public.

But it’s bad. Bad, bad, bad.

He’s much sicker now, even in just the space of a few days. And the hope for further chemo is ended. I know he didn’t expect that, not for months and months.

When we were in the bubble of just we two, when he was on his first trip, he really believed he had years left.

I never believed that. In fact, the last two times I saw him, I knew he was getting worse. He was oblivious to the signs and refused to discuss them, rolling his eyes at me when I said, “please call your doctor.”

I wish I could go back to that last Tuesday at Tim Horton’s and beg him not to drive to Canada. And beg him to have his leg scanned. He was so uncomfortable that day. “I pulled a muscle, it’s nothing.”

As it turns out, it was something. Something horrible that now can not be excised. He can’t tolerate any more chemo without being poisoned.

So here I am. Fighting and arguing with myself: should I reach out? Should I wait to hear from him?

I thought about it all day long yesterday.

Things were so bad between us that quite frankly I considered it a miracle that he messaged me about my new job a few days ago. It had been a while since I’d heard anything from him except his invitation to follow him on Instagram again.

Now that he’s received this horrible horrible news, shouldn’t I take the initiative to reach out to him? Why should the ball always be in his court and the burden of making contact be on him?

But here’s the thing about me: I can’t imagine that anyone would ever want to hear from me, for any reason ever. I hardly ever message anyone first. If I have something to tell them, I log in whatever app it is, send it, and log right back out so they won’t think I’m presuming they want to talk.

Some of that is Southern, but yeah, I’m never thinking anyone would want to chat/talk to me.

And with our history, oh my word, all the past, all the pain, all the anguish. Can I even navigate these waters?

Does he even want to hear from me?

I decided it’s worth taking a risk. Maybe he’ll say no. Maybe he’ll say yes.

Either way, I’ll know I tried.



  1. Always remember that it usually says more about someone else than it does about you, if they ignore you. If your worst fault is that you cared “too much”, I honestly believe that is kinder than if you cared “too little”. Be yourself, and nevermind the rest. ❤

    Liked by 1 person

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